Had Enough Monday

It was either exercise, or suicide, this afternoon, ha, ha, the walls were closing in on me. Suddenly, even having no time at all, the world seemed boring. It isn’t just about being busy, you know. Kill me now, I thought. Time was a big, empty hole continually needing to filled. You know when the nothingness becomes dizzying and the point of it all escape you.

So, it was either the noose, or the track shoes, the razor blade, or the jogging shorts, pounding the footpath, or pounding the Yarra from the Westgate. It could have gone either way. Ha, ha! I chose exercise.

I had gym clothes at work. I got changed and left the office. Up Exhibition Street, up Rathdowne Street, to The Carlton Gardens.

I ponded around the gardens until Hack Hack Dumphrey was totally out of my mind.

It was kinda hot. Temperature hot, not sexy. Sunny, not sleazy. Fragrant, not rancid. Vitamin D, not Hep B. Wind in my hair, not sweat in my rear. This is where life lives, not in the towers built to celebrate industry.

I gazed at the park, they can’t get me here.

Then I pounded home.


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